


The Worst Day

by abigailwarren74



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Cult
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:16:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigailwarren74/pseuds/abigailwarren74
Summary: You don't have to lose someone to start losing your mind. My take on Ally's 9/11 experience.





	The Worst Day

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: All chapter(s) of this story are works of fiction and are not intended to be used as guides. No copyright infringement intended. All character credits belong to the talented team of writers behind this series. Suitable warnings may not be in place so please read at your own discretion. Thank you and happy reading!

When I talk about The Worst Day, I keep my eyelids closed.

 

I turned to look at my wife who's tucking Oz into bed. I was sure I had that same wide-eyed frightened look plastered all over my face before I even looked in the mirror because Ivy had that passive, untroubled face that she put on whenever she was with our son and I was about to go crazy.

 

"Sweet dreams, Oz," I said softly and give him a quick peck on the forehead because I am afraid he may feel my hot tears on his skin if I lingered any longer.

 

Hastily, I made my way out. But even then, I could hear my son say, "Is Mom going to be okay?" And my lover had to convince him that I was going to be okay. She had to convince  _ our son _ that  _ his mother _ was going to be okay.

 

The Worst Day is today. Except it was sixteen years ago. Now, that's a long time to remember something. When I was sixteen, I couldn't remember what happened when I was one.  _ How is this any different? _ I asked myself thoroughly. 

 

I disappeared into our room and I knew that when Ivy comes to find me later, I would be curled up, knees into my chest as I rocked myself, reliving each moment of The Worst Day yet again. Each memory of The Worst Day hurts my heart and it blinds my eyes. It deafens my ears and makes me go senseless. 

 

I didn't have to lose someone on The Worst Day to go entirely insane. 

 

All it took was one wrong-ward subway I took on the way to college in lower Manhattan. 

 

"Ally?" I heard my name being called from outside the door and with my weary eyes, I watched in relief when it was my wife who stepped into the room.

 

On The Worst Day, the gun sleeps by my side, peaceful, until silence is broken.

 

"Ally?" She repeated again as though she hadn't see my pathetic figure on our bed. "Calm down," her shift of weight onto the bed cause me to bounce a little bit. My fingernails were dug deep into my white ankle socks that I always wore.

 

"What's this about now?" She asked tiredly. I knew she was tired because I could see the blood in her eyes and the circles under them. Days that lead up to The Worst Day this year left us both fatigued but still, she put her hands on my raised knees and patted them before one of her hands moved to raise my chin up so my brown eyes could look into desperate ones.

 

"What's wrong?" She asked again like she didn't ask this a million times before. 

 

The answer was always the same. 

 

"I wish I could just… Take all these and put them in a box," I admitted. By these, I meant scenes that I relived during my free time. Which was alot these days, since we moved to Michigan when we had Oz.

 

"It's not your fault you're afraid," Her voice faded between the wretched memories that swirled mercilessly around my mind, "It was a difficult thing that you went through."

 

"But I didn't lose anyone," I shot back, words didn't even run through my mind before they came out of my mouth. My eyes fluttered shut in pettiness.

 

As I shut down one of my senses, another one rises and I pick up on a defeated sigh she gave out, before she got up again, "Ally, it's been 16 years. You gotta let up a little. It was fine when it was fresh but this… This is getting tiring."

 

I chose to keep my mouth shut, but even then, I could taste salty trails when they reached the crevices of my pouty lips. It made me go numb. I understood my sadness without having to think or to process it. I simply let it take over me.

 

"I'm just going to give you a minute, okay?" Her hands let go of me and she leaves me out cold, only with my socks to comfort my cold feet. I choke on my saliva. Crying has never been pretty for me. 

 

The past 9 months since the presidential election had put a strain on our marriage. But today more than ever. Today, on one of The Worst days, I needed my wife. 

 

All it took was for the incorrect subway and my whole life…

 

Changed.

 

Light became darkness and it took me almost an entire decade to find my footing once again. My chest tightened as I looked at Ivy who flipped her hair in a particular way out of her face, she opened the door just a little bit before I spoke once again, eyes still closed.

 

My mind was elsewhere.

 

"I saw the people jumping- I first thought it was debris- flying off from the-" I retched out, causing Ivy to stop in her tracks, "But they were- They were- Were- Bodies raining down in front of my very eyes." The bodies were hitting the cement, one after the other and the sound of it was something I could never forget.

 

By the last word, she was by my side again, hugging me as soft apologies were whispered into my ears about the misuse of her words earlier. "Baby, I know… I know it was upsetting. But we prayed, okay? We prayed that we let God take them quick. So that they didn't have to suffer. You couldn't have stopped it."

 

Even under Ivy's cleansing touch, I flinched, cursing internally.

 

"I'm- So- Scared," the remaining thread of my strength frayed away and I felt the tightness in my chest release itself in the form of wails that broke free from my throat.

 

On THE Worst Day, I had let out a raw scream, a very loud one and I stood there, screaming until I ruined my voice. Until Ivy, who was a freshman in my college at that time, pulled me away. That was the first time she saved me.

 

There are five senses in your body and you'd think that sight would be the strongest of them all for people always say, "I saw that photo and it reminded me of..."

 

It wasn't.

 

The sense of smell was far superior to that of sight. 

 

It is smell that transports people back and forth from memory to reality, a bridge of sorts as the scene replays itself inside of your mind.

 

When I am afraid, I will bring my wrists to smell it just because I have a drop of Ivy's perfume on my pulse points. It reminds me that I am not alone. But on nights like these, The Worst Day overtook them all and even the strongest of perfumes could never override the smell of metallic fresh blood.

 

Most of The Worst Days don't end like this because I didn't usually go to the meat market.

 

But I did today.

 

And every time my hands touched each other, I smelt blood. I could almost feel the thick warm substance running through them. That was why I wore white socks. 

 

So I could let myself know that it wasn't real, for the blood would have soaked through the hatched fabric and left an undeniable taint on the pure white.

 

"And I saw the people- Who- Were waving- Their- Clothes," Between each word was a hiccup that grew more and more frequent, "It- Was- One first, who jumped- And then- Two and then there- Was- A whole- Trail of them- One- After the other-"

 

There was a sense of lose that I couldn't even begin to describe. It tormented me for all those years and now, it's resurfaced again.

 

"Ally… Shhh… It's okay, now. We're not there anymore," Ivy breathed into my hair, placing a long, long kiss between my brunette mane and I felt wetness upon my hair, notifying me that she too, was crying. 

 

My teeth sank gently into her arms as I let the final breakdown commence in me, ridding me of any energy left. I had to remind myself that the blood wasn't real before warming my shivering hands against her back, drawing repetitive lines on her spine with the palm of my hands to create hot friction. 

 

My sadness felt like a rushing lake, cold and with no ending. It washed out all the courage that I ever had in me and scrapped me out until all that was left of me was an empty shell.

 

_ If tears could bring people back to life _ , I thought, _ the whole of America would've shed enough buckets and more to bring back all the people who died in vain on The Worst Day. _

 

The thought of the sort of loneliness that must have plagued these people when they were jumping to their deaths will continue to haunt me forever.

 

Their last thoughts continued to buzz in my mind, blood free flowing from my fingernails, coating my hands.

 

And The Worst Day never seemed to have an ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Approximately 200 people of the 3000 victims (by area of attack) jumped to their deaths during the 9/11 attacks. My heart goes out to all of them and their families.


End file.
